


Sharper Words

by johnny cade (johnnycake)



Series: Rebellious Causes [4]
Category: Rebel Without a Cause (1955)
Genre: Alcohol, Emotional Abuse, M/M, Transphobia, Verbal Abuse, trans!Plato
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-09
Updated: 2018-07-09
Packaged: 2019-06-07 16:10:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15222833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/johnnycake/pseuds/johnny%20cade
Summary: Plato's mother comes home one night.





	Sharper Words

**Author's Note:**

> listen....LISTEN....plato and jim are basically 1955 jally, so prepare for a lot of similar fics

It was the sound of something falling quite loudly downstairs followed by a female voice cursing that altered Plato to the fact that his mother was home. It didn’t matter what time of day she got in – whenever she _did_ get in before leaving again almost immediately – Plato would always hear her. Even if it was the dead of night – like it was now – he would wake up, go down the stairs, and find her. He wasn’t sure why. They never had pleasant conversations and his mother didn’t care about him, he knew that, but she was still his mother and, for whatever reason, he still loved her.

Ever since the night at the planetarium, Jim had been staying with him. Pam, his maid, didn’t mind and there were more than enough rooms in the house for Jim to have his own – which Pam insisted on, even though she’d caught them kissing when they’d come through the door after Jim had brought Plato home from the hospital. The bullet from the police’s gun had punctured his lung and he’d needed surgery. He’d been in the hospital for a week after and had been told by the doctors he would need to be on oxygen for the rest of his life, since his lung had been damaged. Pam had been furious when she found this out, insisting he sue the police for his hospital bills, but Plato had wanted it all to be over, wanted to forget all of it and be happy he had Jim with him now.

Even though he and Jim had separate rooms, they usually ended up spending the night in one or the other’s room and, as Plato got out of bed slowly, he did everything he could to make sure he didn’t wake him. He pulled on his clothes slowly and hoisted his oxygen tank into the cart that sat by his bed that made it easier to move around. He walked down the hall and lifted the tank down the stairs before setting it down again.

He paused at the bottom of the stairs, tilting his head to one side, listening for the sounds on the bottom floor that would indicate which room his mother was in. He wasn’t surprised that the sounds of glasses clicking against each other and a glass being filled with liquid led him to the lavish dining room. On a low-sitting wooden cabinet at the end of the room was a tray so silver it could be used as a mirror with a row of whiskey glasses sitting on it. There was a decanter of whiskey sitting on the tray as well and when Plato entered the dining room, his mother was pouring herself a second glass of the stuff already. She turned and her eyes widened and she staggered back against the cabinet when she saw Plato standing in the doorway.

“What the hell are _you_ doing up?” his mother asked, looking down into her glass of amber liquid and taking a generous drink. His mother always drank when she was home. Plato wondered how long she would be home this time. A day? A week? Just the night? He didn’t want to find out. He wanted his mother to just stay home and be his mother just once.

Plato swallowed nervously. “I heard you come in,” he said, the same as he did every time she asked this question. He wasn’t sure anymore why he bothered getting up. It wasn’t like she was happy to see him. It wasn’t like they ever had any meaningful conversations.

His mother didn’t say anything for a moment. She only raised her eyebrows and scoffed, taking another generous swig of her drink. It was only a couple of fingers of whiskey and she was already almost ready for another glass.

“Why are you letting that criminal live here?” his mother said suddenly. It took Plato a moment to realize she met Jim. “Why did you shoot at the police? You know I’m never home because you keep ruining my reputation, don’t you? I can’t be here when you keep fucking shit up.”

Plato grimaced and said, his voice barely more than a whisper, “I didn’t shoot at the cops. They shot me. I was just holding a gun. There weren’t even any bullets in it. Jim had taken them out.”

His mother scoffed again and rolled her eyes, finishing off what was left in the glass. “It doesn’t matter what exactly happened,” she replied, not looking at him as she poured herself another couple fingers of whiskey. “You still wrecked my reputation even more than you already have. You think I can afford to send you to another shrink? Do you have any idea how expensive the last one was?” She shook her head, taking another sip of whiskey. “You put me through so much I don’t have to go through when all I ever do is provide for you. All I’ve ever done is give you everything you ever want and this is how you repay me? You’re an ungrateful, selfish, spoiled little freak, who can’t even be a good daughter.” She called him his other name then, then name he’d been born with and he flinched.

“I’m not a girl, mother,” Plato said, looking at the floor. His feet were blurred by the darkness. “I’m a boy. I’ve always been a boy. My name is John. Or Plato. Not that.”

His mother frowned, pulling her whiskey away from her mouth as her brows narrowed and she said, “I’m not calling you anything other than the name I gave you. And it doesn’t matter how much you tell yourself you’re a boy. You won’t ever be one. No matter how much money of mine you steal to mutilate yourself with.”

Plato swallowed hard. He wasn’t aware she knew he’d stolen a bunch of money to get his breasts removed, but she watched their bank so closely, he supposed he should’ve seen it coming. He clenched his shaking hands into fists, the one holding the cart his oxygen was in curling around the handle until his knuckles were white.

“I almost died, mother,” he said finally, his voice still soft, still looking at his feet. He looked up at her again. “Can’t you be happy I didn’t?”

His mother took four long strides, crossing the room, her heels clicking on the hardwood floor as she did so. When she reached him, she slapped him as hard as she could. His face snapped to one side and when he turned back to look at her, there were tears in his eyes.

“Don’t you _dare_ insinuate I’m a bad mother ever again!” she hissed, her faces inches from his own. “All I’ve ever done from the _moment_ you were born is provide for you and protect you and give you everything you could ever want and need and _this_ is how you repay me? By _ruining_ my reputation to the point that I have to be out of town all the time? What the hell is _wrong_ with you?” She took swig of her new drink, staggering back a step. “I should’ve gotten that fucking abortion. Even if it killed me. That would be better than _this_.”

Plato grimaced at his mother’s words and his brain went into a distant fog as he heard her words echoing in his head over and over again.

_I should’ve gotten that fucking abortion. Even if it killed me. That would be better than this._

_I should’ve gotten that fucking abortion._

_I should’ve gotten that fucking abortion._

_Even if it killed me. Even if it killed me. Even if it killed me._

_That would be better than this._

He felt his mother push past him, muttering something under her breath that he couldn’t hear. He felt her hit his shoulder and he turned to the side, tears already streaming down his cheeks. She didn’t see. She went somewhere else and he wasn’t sure where. He knew, even without asking, that she would be gone the next morning.

For several moments, he stood there, rooted to the spot, his entire body shaking.

He knew his parents hated him. His father had left not even that long ago and never come back. Not long after, his mother had started going on her continuous trips, only home for a week at most, only speaking to him to tell him what a disappointment he was and how she wished he would stop pretending to be a boy and be a girl again.

And the worst part was despite everything his parents had done to him, despite his father’s sexual abuse, his mother’s verbal and sometimes physical abuse, he still loved them and wished more than anything they would love him back. He wanted his mother to be concerned about the fact he’d gotten shot, not angry he’d hurt her reputation again. He wanted his father to come home and love him the way a father was supposed to, not some persevered imitation of love.

But he knew neither of those things would ever happen.

His parents hated him. And they always would.

He didn’t even realize he was staggering towards the tray of whiskey and glasses until he hit the cabinet and everything rattled. He could hardly see through the tears blurring his vision. His hands shook violently as he grabbed the decanter of whiskey and opened it. The whiskey spilled all over the tray as he began pouring himself a glass of the stuff.

Once he was done, he picked up the glass – much more full than only two fingers – he turned around, looking across the room. It swum in the blur of his tears as he staggered back until he was up against the wall to the left of the cabinet and slid down to the floor, sobbing silently.

 _It’s not fair,_ he thought to himself, shaking his head. _It’s not fair, it’s not fair, it’s not fair._

But he knew thinking that wouldn’t change anything, so he took a large swig of the whiskey and let the world go fuzzy around the edges, waiting for it to numb him to all the pain he’d ever felt.

* * *

It took Jim a few moments to realize he was alone in bed and the moment he did, he felt panic fill him. Plato wasn’t known for his mental stability and already he’d had to go out and find him in the middle of the night because he’d run away from home and gotten lost. And that was before everything that had happened at the planetarium.

Half throwing himself out of bed, he threw on some clothes, pulling on his bright red jacket, and leaving the room. He was halfway down the stairs when he stopped short. There was a woman he didn’t recognize going up them, a glass of whiskey in her hand. When she saw him, she smirked and scoffed saying, “So you’re the trailer trash that she brought home?”

It took Jim a moment to realize she was talking about Plato and once he did, he frowned, his brows narrowing. “My parents live on the other side of the block, ma’am,” he said, not sure why he was even bothering to be polite with her, especially if this were Plato’s mother. He’d heard enough about her from Plato to know she wasn’t a pleasant or even good person. “They’re hardly trailer trash.”

The woman scoffed again, pushing past him on her way up the stairs. “Does it look like I give a shit? You’re still a common criminal. I heard all about what you did.”

Jim didn’t say anything this time and instead just watched her go up the stairs and down the hall. His hands clenched into fists. _Plato has to live with that,_ he thought to himself. No wonder he was the way he was. Jim’s mother was bad enough with the way she wanted to move every time something went wrong. He couldn’t imagine having a mother who was so outwardly hateful.

A door opened and shut on the upper floor and a moment later Jim heard soft sobs coming from somewhere on the floor below. He went down the rest of the stairs and followed them to the dining room. But he saw nothing.

“Plato?” he called softly, stepping into the dining room. He wasn’t sure if the kid had his gun or not. “It’s me. It’s Jim. I’m not gonna hurt you, okay? I’m just gonna come into the room.”

He walked slowly into the room, checking under the table and in the dark corners. It wasn’t until he got to the back near the wooden cabinet topped with a decanter of whiskey and a silver platter full of glasses and splattered with spilled whiskey that he saw him, pressed up against the wall, his oxygen tank next to him. Immediately, Jim’s heart broke for him. He was holding a half empty glass of whiskey in his shaking fingers and his face was covered in tears.

Jim knelt down in front of him. He carefully took the whiskey from his fingers and set it on the floor next to him. Then he took Plato’s shaking hands with one of his own, the other tilting Plato’s chin up to look at him as he asked, “What happened?”

Plato took a shuddering, gasping breath and said, “She hates me. She hates me. She doesn’t even see me as a boy. Maybe-maybe she’s right. Maybe I’m just pretending.” His entire body curled in on itself then and he let out a choked sob, his arms wrapping around himself as he did so.

Jim automatically wrapped his arms around Plato, holding him against him, letting Plato’s fingers curl tightly in his clothes and his tears stain his shirt. He was shaking and when Jim took one of his hands, it felt cold. Plato was always cold. He took off his red jacket and wrapped it around Plato’s shoulder, saying as he did so, “Your mother is a bitch, Plato. And she’s wrong. You’re a boy. You’ve always been a boy. It’s her problem she can’t see you for who you are.”

Plato’s fingers curled in the edges of the jacket, pulling it more tightly around himself. He took several gasping breaths, still sobbing as he looked up at Jim, his face miserable as he said, “Then-then why does she call me worthless and spoiled and selfish and-and so many other awful names?”

“Because she doesn’t know you,” Jim said instantly. “But I know you. And Pam knows you and we both love you because we see you for who you are. Your mother’s _opinion_ is worthless.”

“I just want her to love me,” he said, his voice quiet as he put a hand on his forehead. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted. I dunno why she doesn’t. I dunno what I’ve done wrong.”

Jim pulled Plato back to him. “Because she’s a horrible person,” he said. “She’s self-centered. _She’s_ the selfish one for expecting you to be someone you’re not just to please her. I wish you could see yourself the way Pam and I do. You’re better than anything she could ever be.” He tightened his hold on Plato as Plato tightened his hold on him. He wanted the kid to feel loved. Just for once.

Plato didn’t say anything else. He just clung to Jim until his sobs finally subsided and he was just gasping hiccups against his chest, his fingers curled loosely in his clothes, his tears soaking the front of Jim’s white shirt.

“C’mon,” Jim said then, helping Plato to stand, his voice soft. “Let’s go back to bed.”

He helped Plato back up the stairs. He helped him out of his clothes and back into his pajamas and then watched over him until he fell back to sleep, wishing more than anything he had the means to take him and Pam away from this place. It was only marginally better than his own house.

**Author's Note:**

> i realize abortion wasn't invented until 1971, but i wanted her to say something rly nasty and that was what came to mind. also i also realize that she probably wouldn't be swearing like that as a rich woman in the 50s, but she's had like 3 glasses of whiskey and is in the privacy of her own home and thinks everyone except her son is asleep, so she doesn't care.
> 
> also this is my new posting schedule since i actually have a few more ideas for this fandom!!  
> \- the outsiders big fic (red hands and white sheets)  
> \- the outsiders one shots  
> \- the outsiders big fic  
> \- rebel without a cause one shots  
> rinse. repeat. 
> 
> i hope y'all like these too!!


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